Wise-talking college student Bailey Moore saves his romantic side for the historical romances he's secretly addicted to—until he wakes up crushed under six foot plus of sexy, aroused ancient Viking.
Bailey Moore is a cynical, wise-talking college student who saves his mushy, romantic side for the historical romances he's addicted to-until he wakes up crushed under six feet three inches of aroused Viking warrior.
At first he takes Freyr Grímsson as a glorious odd ball obsessed with Medieval role playing-down to his rough hewn sword, but Frey insists Bailey is his guide in this new world and when Bailey is attacked by a mysterious creature, he's convinced that he and Frey have to wage a battle to drive evil forces off campus. But when his Viking conquers him in bed, Bailey is afraid Frey will also lay claim to his secret, vulnerable heart.
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of a light D/s nature.
Publisher's Note: Each story in the series may be read as a stand alone.
General Release Date: 2nd April 2012
The Viking in my Bed
Oh. That felt just toooo good.
Warm lips on my sweet spot. A lot of guys had made the mistake of thinking my sweet spot was in the obvious location, but I have a thing for having my right armpit licked and suckled, right over this little mole.
A soft beard scraped my skin with just the right amount of pressure. I shivered, arching my body.
I was aware I was close to waking up, like a boat about to bump onto a beach, but the hand stroking my bare chest felt so good I didn’t want to. What was good about Thursday? Thursday was rain, midterms, coffee with Candy, and maybe I’d be able to squeeze in an hour boarding. Maybe.
Thursday was not vivid blue eyes staring into mine. A wide, delighted smile, like a kid’s smile. Plump ribbons of braided blond hair that framed a tanned face. Miles of muscle that I was...stroking?
I sat up.
"Good. This will be better when you’re awake, yes, sei�ma�r?" a heavily accented voice boomed.
He was so loud I covered my ears. The guy on top of me had a chest like a fog horn.
"What are you doing?" I squeaked.
I was naked. Since I’d moved into college residence, I could sleep naked, which saved a lot of time on laundry. My two other roommates were guys, so it’s not like I was going to offend their tender sensibilities.
"I am making love to you, of course," the gigantic blond bellowed.
"Stop shouting!" I yelled.
He frowned, looking like a puzzled golden retriever. "You shouted."
"I live here!" I said with, I have to admit, very little logic. "Listen, Conan, can you get off me?"
He was built like Arnie and he was squishing my legs into my bed. This had to be a set up. I wondered who wanted to yank my, uh, tail—which was hard enough to wag right now.
But so was Conan’s.
"I am not called Conan," he told me stiffly.
"Uh huh. So how much did my friends pay you?" He pushed back the blankets. His name might not be Conan, but if they made a rubber to fit his dick, it would be Conan-sized. I stared, my mouth watering.
Focus, I scolded myself. Just because he has the kind of cock I’d love to suck, I mean love, going down as far as I could on the monster and holding those big rocks and squeezing them...
Right, focus. I got out of bed and grabbed some briefs off the back of a chair.
Conan got out of bed and stood there, hands on his hips, as naked as Michelangelo’s David.
"Where’d you put your clothes?" I looked around, then sniffed. "Do you smell smoke?"
"You ask a lot of questions," he noted.
"Is that a new kind of weed? What is that smell?" Had I left the boiler plate on again? Geez. It smelled like scorched earth in here. It hadn’t been that long since I’d done the laundry.
"It is the mark of my passage to this world," Conan said.
Mark. I saw the hardwood floor was scuffed up. There was a burn on my fake wood wall and a seared heap of cloth that was a weird red colour. I stared at the wool, trying to figure out why it looked both familiar and strange. Oh, it had been dyed with raw madder. I’d helped Mom mix that natural dye for her weaving projects. I picked up the cloth, seeing fragments of a round neckline and cuffs with metal links featuring a snarling animal face. Wow. Mom would be really into this. I was about to ask Conan where he got the shirt when I noticed something else...
"Oh no, my graphic!" The new knot design I’d finished the night before was scorched, the paper curled. Damn. I stuffed it carefully in my messenger bag. Maybe I could photocopy the design. I wanted to show it to my prof later today.
I looked at the guy I’d woken up with.
He was very tall, towering over me. He wore a neatly trimmed dark blond beard. On either side of his face were golden braids, though the rest of his hair was long and free.
He was gorgeous, but obviously obsessed with some kind of role-playing. Figures there’d be something wrong with him since I’d woken up with him. I’d always picked the lemons in the barrel.
But he had a sweet smile.
And I had class in less than an hour.
I tossed more of my clothing, looking for a clean T-shirt. I found one with palm trees and camels my Mom had snagged for me on a trip to Cairo. It was clean. Now I needed my favourite pair of stonewashed jeans.
Conan was still standing there, glowering at me like I was a servant boy who’d forgotten to dress his royal highness.
"Okay," I said. "I gotta get to class. It was real funny." I swallowed. How he got me so hard, so excited. How he felt covering me. "Ha ha. Now go, your Lordship."
"I am Freyr Gr�msson," he continued, in a language I didn’t understand. Maybe it was Middle-earth. I found my jeans.
"There’s coffee and, I think, some left over pizza in the fridge," I told him. "Bye."
I sneaked one last look at him over my shoulder as I snagged my backpack.
He took my breath away. Glowing golden skin, glowering at me out of electric-blue eyes, hands on his corded hips, the kind of hips with dimples created by muscles. He had scars on his body too. Probably some kind of makeup to go with his persona. His cock hung long from a thatch of blond hair almost as bright as the gold on his head. Holy geez. I gave it a wistful glance and then slammed the door behind me.
Jan Irving has worked in all kinds of creative fields, from painting silk to making porcelain ceramics, to interior design, but writing was always her passion.
She feels you can't fully understand characters until you follow their journey through a story world. Many kinds of worlds interest her, fantasy, historical, science fiction and suspense—but all have one thing in common, people finding a way to live together—in the most emotional and erotic fashion possible, of course!
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